


The Bastard of Kyoshi Island

by Lavanya_Six



Series: The Bastard of Kyoshi Island [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Bullying, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-09
Updated: 2011-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-27 02:52:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/290857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavanya_Six/pseuds/Lavanya_Six
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My family only sells fish to real Kyoshians, not traitors."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bastard of Kyoshi Island

**  
_9 years ago (Suki, age 6)_   
**

The shove to her back sent Suki falling face-first into the cold mud.

Suki reacted by flailing her arms, trying uselessly to catch herself as she landed, but all she managed to accomplish was landing badly on her left hand. That wrist flared with pain as her body weight was forced down on it at an awkward angle. The hot agony in her wrist mixed with the cold mud of the pothole she found herself in.

Suki did not languish in her feelings of wretchedness. Staying still never made the bullies stop. They'd want to take something from her first.

She crawled to her knees, the mud dripping off her threadbare clothes into the large puddle below. Suki kept her hands submerged in the mud, not trusting herself. Through watering eyes, she stared at the ground. Making eye contact would only make them angry and then they'd hit her some more.

Towering over her, blocking out the spring sunlight, were two older boys, about ten years old. They were Randori and his friend Hiji. Both were the sons of fishermen and had no reason to be up in the paddies with the spring barley still ripening, except to deliver a message.

"I said, 'Your Mother's not supposed to shop at my Father's stand'." Randori walked around to her front, his boots sloshing in the muddy road. It had rained the night before. "You retarded or somethin'? Did I need to write it down for you, Suki?"

Hiji said, "I don't think she _can_ read."

Suki couldn't, but she kept her head down and let them think that hurt her. If she could have, Suki would have killed them both. She would have killed _them_ and Randori's _stupid father_ and sunk their family's fishing boat and burned down their h-

She stopped herself.

Suki's fakery wasn't satisfaction enough for Randori. Moving up really close to her, he declared, "Your Mom's not one of us. _You're_ not one of us. My family only sells fish to real Kyoshians, not traitors."

A large, fat air bubble burbled to the surface of the thick muck swollowing Suki's hands. Faint whisps of steam danced above the mud. Only Suki, kneeling over the ground in her best imitation of a beaten dog, saw either event. Terror ran through the six year old, escaping from her lips as a strangled gasp.

"Little bastard's starting to get the point," said Hiji, mistaking her reaction for an indulgence to their bullying. He boot gave the dity a half-hearted kick, almost-but-not-quite spraying Suki with more mud.

Randori went for the direct approach and stepped on one of her hands, pinning it to the soft ground. Suki, drawn out of her cacoon of fear, whimpered. "What's the matter? Am I hurting you, Suki?"

"I think you are," said his friend. "Is the baby crying?"

Suki strove to ignore them, and, as her mother taught her, instead concentrated on counting backwards from ten to rein in her wild emotions. The steam over the mud vanished. The bubbling stopped.

"Hoooo... I think she is!" He put more pressure on his boot and began to crush her small, trapped hand. "Does it hurt?"

"Y-yes," she gasped. Pride, however, kept her from begging them to stop. Not that begging would do anything to help with these two.

"Aw," said Randori, slowly grinding his hand down with his boot, "that's too bad. Hey! I know what you should do! I think you should take your poor widdle booboo," he stepped on her hand with his full body-weight, forcing Suki to choke on a scream, "and ask your slut of a mother to k-"

What Randori meant to say was "kiss it and make it better." What he instead said, after Suki's free hand lashed upwards in a lightning-quick strike to his unguarded testicles, was something altogether inarticulate and partially outside the normal range of human vocal cords.

"DON'T TALK ABOUT MY MOM!" she screamed at him.

Hiji managed to widen his eyes and scream a useless "RANDORI!" before Suki pushed the now-unbalanced bully off her pinned hand, hobbled to her feet, and slung a handful of hot mud square into Hiji's face.

With the two bullies scream invectives at her backside, Suki took to the wind and never looked back. She ran and ran, never stopping until she made it back to her family's shack. Legs cramping and heart racing, Suki limped around and pulled the shutters on the windows closed.

Secreted away inside the cramped shack, Suki kneeled on the floor. A small, fire-baked clay bowl of tepid water rested before her. Her mother kept it around their shack at all time, not for eating or drinking, but to help Suki maintain control if the counting didn't help. If she failed to be strong enough, her mom would make her keep her hands submerged in the bowl all evening. Suki couldn't keep her failure a secret. She'd find out, somehow. She always did.

Staring at her clenched, muddy fists, Suki sucked in her breath and began to count aloud.

"T-ten."

She had to control herself. Her mom would be so angry if she didn't.

"Nine."

The wet mud on her hands began to quickly dry out.

"Eight."

Suki never wanted to make her mom worry. Her mom sacrificed so much for her, she worked hard in the fields to give them a place to live and to put food on their table. Suki had known that for a long time. Now she was getting old enough to appreciate the looks that the people in town gave her mom.

She forced herself to uncurl her fists. Bits of dried mud flakes off her fingers.

"S-seven."

Unbidden, the fresh memory of Randori's and Hiji's bullying rose up. It was her fault. It was her fault that they picked on her. Suki knew that much. It was because she was... what she was.

Smoke was beginning to curl over her palms.

"Six."

'Go away,' she commanded.

The wisps of smoke began to dance and swirl. Suki's hands began to tremble with fear.

"F-fff... stop. STOP!" Suki cringed, feeling the traitorous heat gathering in her belly and flowing out to the very tips of her fingers and toes. Tears began to gather in her eyes. "P-please stop," she begged her open palms. "Please."

A half inch above the center of her lefthand palm, a small, sputtering flame no brighter than a firefly at twilight flickered into existence.

Expression curdling with disgust, Suki thrust her hands into the bowl of water. The tiny flame was extinguished at once. When Suki allowed herself to remove her wrinkled, pruned hands from the muddy water a long time later, both the flame and the smoke were both gone.

Shaken, Suki propped open the awning window's wooden screen so to let in a cool breeze. The taint of the smoke was washed away on chill spring air, as if it had never existed at all.


End file.
